Chapter 89

Chapter 89
\[BRIAN\]

When I reach back home and head for the bedroom to check up on Ava, I’m met with a surprise when, instead of finding her on the bed, resting as she should be, I almost bump into her.

For a second, I just look at her, stunned into silence.

At the time I left, she still hadn’t regained consciousness. And now she’s here, looking slightly better than she did with her eyes closed and tubes stuck to her body.

I’m so overwhelmed by the storm of relief that hits me in waves that, before I know it, I’m pulling her into my arms and holding her tightly. I’m not sure if I should be doing this, considering she’s still recovering, but I just can’t help it. And when she wraps her arms around me in response, I feel myself relaxing even more.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I mumble against her head, my lips brushing against her hair.

I can’t explain the way I feel right now, but whatever it is, it’s warm and solid and very potent. It fills up the hollow space inside my chest that had been clawing at me since the moment I found her collapsed on the floor. It quiets the noise in my head—the what-ifs, the worst-case scenarios, the images I couldn’t stop replaying no matter how hard I tried.

It’s like what you feel when you barely escape death and realize you’re still alive—that you still have time, that it isn’t over just yet.

I didn’t realize how close I was to losing her until I thought I already had.

I feel that way when I hold her tight in my arms, because God knows I had been scared. Terrified, even. The thought of losing her had me unravelling in ways I didn’t think I was capable of. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe right. Everything felt…wrong. Empty. Like the world had tilted off its axis and there was no fixing it.

And the worst part?

I couldn’t do anything about it.

All the power I have, all the control I’m used to wielding—it meant nothing when it came to her lying there, unmoving, slipping somewhere I couldn’t follow.

I never want to feel that again.

I tighten my hold on her just a fraction, like if I let go too soon, she might disappear again. Like this—this right here—is the only proof I have that she’s still mine to protect, still here, still breathing.

Still alive.

She nods, her hair brushing my lips. “I’m glad, too. Trust me. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“It’s fine,” I say, releasing her and stepping back to look at her face. “It wasn’t your fault. In fact, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I promised that I would let nothing happen to you—that I would contain this mess before it got out of hand.”

Even though admitting my failure to protect her feels like a pill that’s too hard to swallow, I still force the words out. They scrape against my throat, heavy and bitter, but they need to be said.

Because the truth is, I did fail.

And no matter how much I try to dress it up, soften it, or shift the blame, it doesn’t change that one simple, brutal fact.

I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t there when she needed me.

I wasn’t there when things went wrong.

And that’s something I don’t know how to forgive myself for.

It has to be done. She has to know that I feel absolutely terrible for putting her through all of this—for letting things spiral this far, for letting her get hurt in a situation I should have had under control.

“And I failed.”

“No, you didn’t,” she rushes out, her fingers reaching for my face.

I almost lean into her touch without thinking. Almost let myself believe her.

But I don’t.

Because if I accept that—if I let myself off the hook—then what does that say about everything that happened?

“You didn’t, okay? Stop beating yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. You only went out because I asked you to, because we were both worried about Max and—”

I don’t know what that means, or if I should ask her to finish what she started.

But before I can make up my mind, she snaps her gaze back to me. “Brian. I know who did this—who’s behind this whole damn thing.”

For a second, I just stare at her.

She does?

My mind starts racing, thoughts colliding into each other faster than I can catch them.

Did she figure out that Beau Edwards had been targeting her and her family all along? Did she hear something while she was unconscious and put the pieces together? Or has she always had a hunch about it?

But that’s not important right now.

“Who?” I press, knowing she would tell me anyway.

“Ava!”

Just then, Max walks back into the living room from the guest room, rushing toward us. It’s only when he’s close enough that I notice the phone pressed to his ear, his expression tight, strained.

Something’s wrong.

“What happened?”

Max looks at me and then back at Ava. “Miranda called. Sean is awake.” Before either of us can even think, he adds, “And she says he’s asking for you.”

Ava’s eyes brim with tears, but there’s something else there too—something stronger, steadier. Determination. Resolve. Like a switch has flipped inside her, like whatever uncertainty she had before is gone now.

Like she finally knows what she has to do.

And nothing is going to stop her.

She nods, wiping away the stray tears before they can fall, then looks at me.

“We need to go. I think it’s time we put an end to this.”